Love to write? Now is your chance to share your writing with the school (and beyond)!

Every month or so, I will write the first part of what will be a two part story, and leave the ending ambiguous. That way you can write the second part!

Once you have written the second part of the story, e-mail your writings to [email protected].

I will choose the piece of writing that I find fits best with the first part, exemplifies creativity and has the least amount of grammatical errors, although we reserve the right to edit your story to fix the errors you do make.

Here is the first part of this month’s story:

Part I

I’ve always hated the name Judy. Yet I always fell in love with girls who bore the name. Judy Mayberry was no exception.

The story of how we first met is not so extraordinary. I was reading Martin Amis’ London Fields on a park bench one autumn day. She came walking towards me holding four dogs by their leashes. Luckily for me, one of the dogs came up to me and proceeded to hump my leg. She apologized profusely and tried to make the act seem less heinous by admitting that they weren’t in fact her dogs, and she was looking after them while housesitting for a friend.

After that incident, she begged me to let her take me out for a cup of tea, all expenses paid by her. I politely obliged, and after she went back to her friend’s apartment to drop the dogs off, we made our way towards the nearest tea-selling establishment.

We sat for a couple of hours and exchanged pleasantries. Talking about how much we hated our jobs, Anderson Cooper’s attractiveness and how Toy Story 3 was the best film out of the Toy Story trilogy. The sun came in through the blinds in streaks. They lit up parts of her face. Making her white teeth appear yellow and her blonde hair white. I didn’t care though. Her beauty shined brighter than the sun.

As our time winded down at the tea shop, I contemplated whether or not to ask for her number. As usual, though, I wimped out, and watched her walk away, slowly fading into the crowd of strangers.

I went home and moped about my apartment for the evening, racking my brain with various scenarios in which I did ask for her number, and life went swimmingly. But, as we all know, life works very laboriously.

I was still moping about when something I thought would never happen, happened. My heart began racing and I quickly got up out of my “moping chair” and bolted towards the door.

To be continued in part two…

Remember to send Westside Wired your writings of the second half of the story!  Whoever comes up with the best second part of the story will have their writing put up on Wired.